


Five Sparrows for a Penny

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bondage, But everyone is having a great time, Clones, Come Eating, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley's Tongue (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Rimming, Rough Sex, Stoplight System, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Yellow is Called, contains NSFW art, especially Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: “I want to make you happy, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, reaching across the miles that separate the wingback from the bookshop sofa, prying one of Crowley’s hands from his face and caressing it gently, “Always and forever, on our own side. And, if this is a fantasy you have, then I want to be able to provide it for you.”Crowley coughs out a laugh, trying desperately not to cry as he takes Aziraphale’s hand in earnest, brings it to his lips and kisses the knuckles.“Also it does sound like a rather fun time, I must say.” Aziraphale says with a wiggle.“Angel, I swear to someone…” Crowley tries to regain his composure and pick his jaw up off the floor.--Crowley has fantasies, Aziraphale is more than willing to oblige.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 293





	Five Sparrows for a Penny

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to quite literally the filthiest thing I've ever written xD
> 
> I've seen a lot of fic out there with multiple Crowley's giving our dear hedonist a lovely time, but not as much with multiple Aziraphale's. So be the fic you want to see in the world, I give you the most unconventional 5 and 1 I could have possibly written!
> 
> This fic features some absolutely STUNNING art by my friends Callus Ran ([Tumblr](https://ran196242.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ran196242) | [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callus_ran)) and Sungmee ([Tumblr](https://sungmee.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nothistoryart) | [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise))! I love them both so very much please go show them some love because this fic is only half as good without their contributions to it and they deserve so much credit for cheerleading and pushing me on!
> 
> Also a shoutout to [Euterpein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euterpein) for the amazing beta work that made this perfect <3
> 
> **  
> This is your warning that there is EXTREMELY nsfw art ahead and it will fill your whole phone screen and it will be a lot; just in case  
> **

“I must say though, the duck was quite delectable tonight.”

“Was it now?” Crowley asks as he unlocks the door to his flat and ushers Aziraphale in, closing the door behind them. He’s about to inquire after the quality of the tiramisu when he’s unceremoniously pinned to the entryway wall. Everything quickly becomes a blur of lips and teeth and shed clothing as Aziraphale holds him there, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck. Their fingers entwine against the concrete wall, and Crowley can already feel how hard Aziraphale is as he presses against his back, punching the air out of his lungs.

“A-Angel?” Not that he minds, obviously, if the growing tent in his own trousers is any indication; but there’s usually more of a preamble, more build up to their nocturnal escapades.

“Darling,” Aziraphale coos from right next to his ear… but his mouth is still on Crowley’s neck, so how is that—

_Oh._

Aziraphale (is it the real Aziraphale?) shifts his hands, grips Crowley tightly by the wrists as he takes an earlobe between his teeth. The one Crowley is becoming more and more sure is _his_ Aziraphale strokes a loving hand through his hair, almost mindlessly, watching the situation at hand.

“You remember what we talked about, darling? What you said you wanted?”

“Ngk… _hrnnk_ … _yes —Ah!”_

The Aziraphale behind him ruts against him, hard line of his cock straining through his trousers, pressing against the black denim of Crowley’s jeans. A soft and well manicured finger hooks under his chin, turns him and captures his lips in a kiss far too soft and gentle for the current circumstances. “Good. This is Mr. Fell.“ Aziraphale gestures to the version of himself that has his tongue quite firmly down Crowley’s throat, “He’s one of my friends who’ll be joining us tonight, if you’re still amenable to that… _arrangement_.”

* * *

_One week prior_

“And…you want me to hurt you?”

“No, no, no, angel. At least, not like that. No, I want to be overwhelmed completely. I want to lose track of where I end and where you begin. I want to be fucked until I’m sore and sensitive everywhere that I can be fucked and _then,”_ Crowley pauses for dramatic effect, letting the speed at which the words left him catch up, “Then I want you to fuck me again.”

“Well, it definitely sounds like something you’ve thought about, at the very least.”

“Far too long, Aziraphale,” Crowley says, head in his hands. He feels mildly ashamed, asking for this. Asking for more when Aziraphale has already given him so much. The past few months have been a plethora of exploration of each other’s bodies — both learning every touch and kiss and bite that breaks the other down, makes them shudder and beg and writhe. But this is a deep-seated fantasy, one that has taken hold of Crowley at various times over the centuries. Wanting to be surrounded and overwhelmed and so very thoroughly _used_.

“Well, we would have to set some ground rules, of course. I wouldn’t want to take it too far in a way you couldn’t get out of.”

“I know it’s ridiculous and you don’t have to — wait, what was that?”

“I want to make you happy, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, reaching across the miles that separate the wingback from the bookshop sofa, prying one of Crowley’s hands from his face and caressing it gently, “Always and forever, on our own side. And, if this is a fantasy you have, then I want to be able to provide it for you.”

Crowley coughs out a laugh, trying desperately not to cry as he takes Aziraphale’s hand in earnest, brings it to his lips and kisses the knuckles.

“Also it does sound like a rather fun time, I must say.” Aziraphale says with a wiggle.

“Angel, I swear to someone…” Crowley tries to regain his composure and pick his jaw up off the floor.

* * *

“Fuck yes, angel,” Crowley whines out, face pressed to the concrete as his glasses fall off his face. Mr. Fell cups him through his jeans as he ruts against him and Crowley can’t stop his hips from snapping up into Mr. Fell’s grip. “Please, yes, I’m good, I’ll be good.”

“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale says as he kisses the tattoo on Crowley’s face, “I know for a fact you will be, you won’t be able to do anything else.”

Aziraphale taking charge like this sends a thrill through Crowley’s entire being. He loves being able to let go, to let Aziraphale control the situation and the dance. If he’s lucky, he thinks Aziraphale might exert quite a bit of control over the situation. 

Mr. Fell’s nails scrape Crowley’s chest as he reaches for the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, popping them open deftly despite not being able to see them, his mouth hot on Crowley’s neck. Aziraphale reaches for his belt buckle, flicking the snake head open and pulling the leather through the loops on his jeans, tossing it away to destinations unknown. Aziraphale winds his hand through the skinny scarf around Crowley’s neck and yanks, beginning their pilgrimage to the bedroom with lips locked together. Mr. Fell works his jacket off his shoulders as Aziraphale fumbles with the button on his jeans, the two of them working in tandem as they make their way through the flat.

By the time they reach the bedroom, Crowley has been thoroughly divested of all his clothing, though he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint just how.

“So gorgeous,” Mr. Fell growls low against Crowley’s skin, grip bruising and tight on his hips as Aziraphale circles them. 

“He makes such a lovely picture, doesn’t he? Oh, how we’ve been tempted over the centuries.” Aziraphale says, taking Crowley’s hands in his, pulling him over to the bed as Mr. Fell follows behind. “Pretty as a present, isn’t he?” Aziraphale leans forward, kisses Crowley deeply and possessively and Crowley moans into it.

“Oh yes,” Mr. Fell says, hooking a finger under Crowley’s chin, “Perhaps we should tie him up in a bow.” He grips Crowley’s chin and turns him, stealing his lips away from Aziraphale’s and capturing them with his own.

Crowley’s head is spinning far too much to object, and even if he could he wouldn’t want to. Mr. Fell guides him down onto the bed, never once breaking the kiss. There’s a shimmer of ozone and Crowley knows Aziraphale is spinning rope out of firmament. 

Mr. Fell presses him down into the mattress, fingers fitting between Crowley’s ribs just as easily as Aziraphale’s do. Makes sense, really, they _are_ the same person. He pulls back to kiss a trail down Crowley’s chest as Aziraphale takes one of his wrists and ties it to the iron headboard.

“How’s that, my love?”

Crowley pulls at the binding on his wrist, finds it doesn’t have much give but isn’t too tight either. He nods as best he can, about to answer verbally, when Mr. Fell swallows his cock to the hilt. Crowley cries out, arching his back and sinking his free hand into Mr. Fell’s hair, only to have it pulled back by Aziraphale.

“No, no, my dear,” Aziraphale says as he kisses Crowley’s wrist before wrapping it in the miracled rope, “You’ll be restrained for this pleasure, all you have to do is lie back and enjoy it.”

Mr. Fell circles a slick finger at his entrance, a vague preamble before pushing it in and crooking it just the way Aziraphale knows how to. Crowley can’t keep from bucking into his mouth and gasping aloud.

“Shh…” Aziraphale says, stroking his hair, “Usually I would ask for your safe word, but instead I want to check-in as we go. I’m a bit nervous about these proceedings myself. So, we’ll start now. Color, Crowley?”

“Green!” Crowley practically shouts as Mr. Fell brings a second finger to join the first. He swirls his tongue over the tip of Crowley’s cock and Crowley is certain he can’t hold on much longer.

“Very good, my love, I’m so proud of you.” Aziraphale kisses Crowley’s forehead and crosses to an armchair that’s been placed across from the bed. He sits down with a sigh, crossing one leg over his lap and settling in like he’s about to indulge in a particularly good novel. “I’ll be here, but for now, I think I’m content to watch.”

“Fuck’s sake, ang— _angel!”_

Mr. Fell swallows around his cock as he brings a third finger in to join the first two, pulsing in and out of Crowley’s stretched hole, rubbing against his walls and paying special attention to his prostate.

“Aziraphale! Please, not gonna last much longer,” Crowley says, a moment too late. Mr. Fell crooks his fingers as he takes Crowley deep into his throat, and Crowley can’t stop his release from cresting. He spills down Mr. Fell’s throat, far faster than he would’ve liked, and he wants to cry. He doesn’t want this to be over yet.

“Oh, well, that is a concern. You see, I fully intend to put you through all your demonic paces.” Aziraphale taps his chin thoughtfully, in a way that signals to Crowley loud and clear that he already has a plan for this situation. “I think, if you’re agreeable, we might leave it up to a bit of _divine intervention_. What would you say to that?”

“Anything, angel, anything!”

Mr. Fell’s fingers are still stretching him out deliciously, and his cock is softening in Mr. Fell’s mouth but he doesn’t stop sucking, doesn’t stop swirling his tongue over it. Aziraphale crosses over to the bed and places a hand on his abdomen. “One bit of divine intervention, as requested.”

Aziraphale channels a miracle through his fingertips and into Crowley’s skin. It’s a crackle of electric static that shoots up his spine and back down again, and his cock is once again spectacularly hard in Mr. Fell’s mouth.

“There we go, now we can have fun for as long as we like.”

Crowley has the fleeting thought that he is well and thoroughly _fucked._ It’s quickly followed by the much lovelier thought that he _will_ be well and thoroughly fucked again and again before the night is over.

Mr. Fell pulls off of his cock, letting the spit trail down after him as he removes his fingers. Crowley whines at the loss, trying to grind down on nothing. “You can be patient, can’t you Crowley?” Mr. Fell coos at him in a voice that is on the one hand very much Aziraphale’s but on the other very much not as he slowly undoes his bowtie. “If we’re to truly have fun, I’ll need to shed these layers.”

“Let me help you with that, dear,” Aziraphale says to his clone while giving Crowley a pointed look. He reaches for the top button of Mr. Fell’s shirt, as the clone unbuttons his own waistcoat. It’s a slow and meticulous ritual, and all Crowley can do is watch. Each item is removed and set aside, with the same infinite care Aziraphale shows for his own things.

After what feels like an eternity, a fully naked Mr. Fell finally climbs back onto the bed. His cock is bigger than Aziraphale’s usual fair, and Crowley audibly gulps as he presses it against Crowley’s slick and ready hole.

“Beautiful thing, I’m going to have fun with you,” Mr. Fell growls low as he pushes in. Every inch is an agonizingly sinful stretch, pain and pleasure mixing intoxicatingly. The sensation of it grounds Crowley to the moment, even as he strains against the ropes on his wrists, wrapping his fingers around them and looking for leverage to push himself down harder.

“More, more, please, more…” Crowley can’t stop the words from leaving him. Mr. Fell just grips his thighs tighter, folding Crowley in on himself as he pushes in slowly. Aziraphale stays close, appraises the situation like he would one of his books. Steel grey eyes lock with Crowley’s for a moment, just a hint of a question in them. Permission, perhaps. Either way, Crowley can’t stop himself from nodding vigorously, or from rolling his hips trying to get Mr. Fell to move.

“Lovely, darling. Is this what we look like? Such a treat to see from this angle, I must say.” Aziraphale brushes his thumb over Crowley’s rim and Crowley nearly cries out in desperation. “Darling, you will have to pace yourself, can’t get overwhelmed with just two of us, not with where my plans are taking us.” His words are punctuated by a gentle and insistent pressure at Crowley’s entrance, as Aziraphale slides his finger in alongside Mr. Fell’s cock. Crowley keens at the pleasure-pain of the stretch, just this side of too much and yet not nearly enough.

Aziraphale’s implication doesn’t miss him, that there will be more of him. The number isn’t known but just the thought of it, of Aziraphale inside of him, around him, everywhere and overwhelming, makes his cock pulse and jump.

“Such an eager one,” Mr. Fell says as he maneuvers Crowley’s legs over his shoulders, pushes in just a _fraction_ more, but it feels like so much more than that. “I am going to enjoy this.”

“Well then, get to it, he’s all yours,” Aziraphale says as his finger slips out of Crowley, causing him to whine at the loss. He claps Mr. Fell on the shoulder, the same way he would a regular customer at the shop. “I shall _thoroughly_ enjoy watching.”

Mr. Fell smirks and winks at him and finally — _finally_ — starts to move, pulling out of Crowley slowly before snapping his hips back roughly. Crowley cries out, back arching off the mattress, as the pressure builds against his prostate with every hard and rough thrust. Mr. Fell wraps his hands around Crowley’s ankles, digging in hard, leaving crescent shaped marks where his nails nearly break skin. Crowley’s breath is interspersed with litanies of _yes_ and _please_ and _Aziraphale_.

“What a picture you make on my cock, Crowley,” Aziraphale coos from the outskirts of the room. “You always take it all so well, perhaps I should consider making it bigger in our normal routines as well, since you seem to be enjoying it so much.”

“You’re so damned _tight_ it’s heavenly,” Mr. Fell says as he leans over, folding Crowley practically in half to press messy kisses to his chest and tweak his nipples with his tongue. Aziraphale is watching intently, and Crowley wants to be so very good for him. He snaps his hips, rolls down to meet Mr. Fell’s thrusts, letting the pleasure build higher and higher. 

Crowley feels Mr. Fell smirk against his chest as he pulls out, hesitating for just a moment with his tip pressed to Crowley’s hole. He bites down on Crowley’s nipple sharply as he thrusts hard and fast —with an even wider girth this time— and Crowley careens over the edge. He spills out untouched between them, come painting both of their chests as he cries out.

“Very good,” Mr. Fell purrs against his skin, the scrape of his stubble overwhelming against Crowley’s skin, already becoming sensitive to touch after riding two waves of pleasure. Before he can truly come down, his cock is already hard again, courtesy of Aziraphale’s miracle.

Mr. Fell leans back up onto his knees, thrusts in deeper with each snap of his hips, chases his release with abandon. There’s sweat forming on his forehead, plastering his curls to his face. Aziraphale comes closer; he brushes an errant one out of Mr. Fell’s face for him while Mr. Fell grips Crowley’s thighs tightly and fucks him at a bruising pace. 

It’s everything Crowley has ever wanted. He’s drifting in bliss when he feels soft fingers cupping his cheek.

“Aziraphale…”

“No darling, not me,” Aziraphale says from the foot of the bed. Crowley hazily opens his eyes, scanning the room in a daze. Next to him, stroking his cheek reverently and placing kisses to his forehead, is a third Aziraphale; naked as the dawn of creation and already hard for him.

“Ezra.” Aziraphale says helpfully. “Now, where shall we put you?” 

Despite the question, Aziraphale takes Ezra’s hand, steadying him as he climbs onto the bed and straddles Crowley, holding himself up on his hands with one on either side of Crowley’s face. “Hello, dear,” Ezra says, voice much softer than his angel’s voice. “Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?”

Ezra is so earnest in his question that Crowley doesn’t answer, just leans up and presses his lips to the clone’s. Ezra moans happily and Crowley can’t stop himself from licking into his mouth, relishing the sweet moans and gasps that it earns him. Ezra’s hands are everywhere as Mr. Fell continues his thrusting. 

“You kiss _divinely,_ ” Ezra breathes when they break, eyelids heavy and happiness painting his face. It’s becoming clear to Crowley that each of the clones is a distilled version of one of Aziraphale’s own personality traits in a way. And Ezra, it seems, is incredibly shy.

“I’d very much like to sit on your cock now.” So much for Ezra being shy. Crowley nods, incapable of speech, and Ezra smiles wide as he leans back. Mr. Fell is nice enough to grip Crowley’s cock, line it up where Ezra needs it as he sinks down onto him.

Ezra’s weight is heavy against him, pushing him down into the mattress as he impales himself on Crowley’s cock, moaning loud and obscene. Mr. Fell slams into him, keeping the punishing rhythm, bringing him closer to another release. The come on his chest is tacky and sticky. It pulls at his chest hair just as he pulls at the ropes keeping him bound to the headboard.

“Angel, Aziraphale, please,” Crowley stammers, unused to this much sensation at once. It’s a consuming one, being had and getting to have at the same time mixed with the restraint. He wants to touch, wants to move, wants to be held. He wants so many things.

“Color, darling?”

“Yellow, yellow,” Crowley says and both of the bodies stop moving. “Just… just need to get my bearings.” Aziraphale is beside him in an instant, stroking his hair, kissing his cheeks and his lips, checking in on him. 

Crowley lets it sink in, the stretch of Mr. Fell’s cock, the tightness of Ezra’s arse. The warmth and weight of the both of them, weighing him down and grounding him to the bed. The softness of Aziraphale’s hands and lips as he comforts him. His breathing evens out, and he’s left with one clear and crystalline bit of knowledge in the stillness of the room.

He is having the time of his life, and he has never been more turned on in his entire existence.

“We can stop if you need to, darling,” Aziraphale whispers low in his ear, “You say the word and we stop.”

“Don’t…don’t wanna stop…s’wonderful, just…just needed a minute.” Crowley says as he breathes deep once more, takes in the picture of these three fluffy and fussy angels, all of their attention trained on him. “Green, I’m green.”

“Are you sure?”

“Angel I am so fucking green you could throw me in the plant room.”

Aziraphale kisses him deeply once more, “I’m glad to hear it, my love.” He walks away, takes his position back in the chair, the front row spectator for their evening escapades. Mr. Fell starts to move once more, thrusting hard and hitting Crowley’s prostate on every push. Ezra lifts himself, slams himself back down, the wet heat of him so tight and delicious, the faces he makes as he fucks himself open on Crowley’s cock straight out of the dreams Crowley used to use to keep himself company on long nights.

It’s the look on Ezra’s face that undoes him. Crowley cries out as he spills once again, this time into Ezra above him. Ezra doesn’t stop. There's no respite for him, the spell of divinity that Aziraphale has woven on him filling his cock again as Ezra continues to slam down onto it. Mr. Fell has a bruising grip on his thighs as he slams into him, spilling deep inside of him, but staying hard by virtue of not being real.

“Excellent, my love,” Aziraphale strides over to the bed, looking as put together as he ever does. Not mussed in the slightest, no tinge of anything to his voice. But there’s a sparkle in his eyes and Crowley knows he’s enjoying this as much as Crowley is.

“Anything for you— _gah—_ “ he gasps and arches his back as Ezra scrapes those manicured nails through his chest hair, red tracks following in their wake.

“Hmmm…” Aziraphale hums, like it’s any other Tuesday and he’s perusing the accounting logs. Drives Crowley mad, has him near release again. Aziraphale leans down close to his ear, but not close enough to touch. “My darling, do tell me, what would you be doing if you weren’t in those bonds?”

“Want… want to kiss you…” he manages to choke out. As if on cue, Mr. Fell brings a hand up to Ezra’s chin, turns his face and licks into his mouth loudly and messily as they both moan in his angel’s voice. It’s wrong and strange and so intensely erotic that Crowley nearly comes again from that sight alone. He doesn’t have time to muse on it as Mr. Fell slams into him impossibly harder and deeper than before.

“What else, my darling?” Aziraphale asks. It’s not a question, it is a demand, carried on a puff of air that’s warm against his earlobe. Aziraphale will give Crowley everything he wants, all he has to do is ask for it.

Crowley stares at Ezra’s cock, full and thick, a line of precome beading at the tip, dripping onto his already sticky chest. It’s red and untouched and Crowley can only think of one thing.

“Wanna… wanna touch you, stroke your cock, love your blasted cock, wanna feel it in my hands,” Crowley gasps out between breaths. Mr. Fell locks eyes with him as Aziraphale laughs low in his ear. Storm-gray eyes that are so very familiar but not his actual angel, watching him and dissecting him with their gaze as lips that are not his angel’s lips kiss and bite at skin that is not his angel’s skin. Mr. Fell lifts his hand slowly, brings it around and starts to stroke Ezra’s cock in earnest. Ezra gasps and arches, nuzzling his face into what he can reach of Mr. Fell’s.

“Shh, I’ve got you, darling,” Mr. Fell coos in Aziraphale’s voice, taking Ezra’s earlobe between his teeth, but keeping his gaze trained on Crowley. “Let go for me.”

Four small words set off a chain reaction, Crowley spills inside of Ezra, who in turn comes over Mr. Fell’s hand, splattering Crowley’s chest, his spend mingling with Crowley’s own from earlier. Mr. Fell gives another two good thrusts and he’s spilling inside Crowley for the second time this evening, leaving him feeling loose and open, and thoroughly fucked out.

“Christ alive, angel, how many times am I gonna come tonight?” Crowley can’t help but ask. His cock is so hard but his vision is starting to black out at the edges, his arse is sore and Mr. Fell still hasn’t let up in the slightest.

“Oh dear, you and your questions,” Aziraphale says fondly as he kisses Crowley again, clearly proud of himself. “I do think I need to find a way to silence that mouth of yours, darling,” Aziraphale says when they break, “If there are no objections.”

“Can’t object if my mouth is occupied,” Crowley says, hoping this will be the point when Aziraphale will finally rid himself of those clothes, pay attention to the tent in his trousers and maybe — _maybe—_ fuck Crowley’s face until he cries.

So he’s got a bit of a self-destructive streak, he doesn’t want to examine that too closely. Aziraphale just chuckles and kisses him again, long and deep, full of tongue and teeth and so messy and desperate that Crowley hopes it never ends.

He almost _does_ cry when Mr. Fell pulls out of him, suddenly empty aside from the come he can feel leaking out of himself. Crowley doesn’t have long to ruminate on this, as Mr. Fell sweeps his broad tongue over his hole, making his back arch and his hips roll, slamming into Ezra to meet him on the down thrust.

“Yes, again, please,” Ezra pants out and Crowley is powerless to do anything but give him what he wants. He snaps his hips again, Mr. Fell following, fucking him on his tongue this time, wet and uncoordinated. Aziraphale’s lips don’t leave his, and it’s the most beautiful kind of torture, being trapped between these three bodies. Every bit of himself giving and receiving and all of it is Aziraphale.

Aziraphale breaks the kiss as Ezra slides back down on Crowley’s cock again, fucking himself with a hedonism that only Aziraphale would ever be capable of. Mr. Fell is dutifully cleaning Crowley with his tongue, lapping at his hole and swallowing his own spend. It’s thoroughly debauched and Crowley has the fleeting thought that Aziraphale could give any lust demon in hell a run for their money.

He isn’t allowed much time for thought, as Aziraphale’s lips are immediately replaced with a different yet oh so familiar set of lips.

“Yes, I think Az here can do that for us quite nicely.”

Crowley’s eyes fly open, looking over to Aziraphale — _his_ Aziraphale— and watching him slowly undo his tie as this new one — Az, he’d said — grips Crowley’s hair and licks into his mouth.

Soft and well-manicured hands peel the fingers of Crowley’s right hand away from their white-knuckle grip on the rope. The soft silk of the bowtie is slid into his grip, a gentle touch that’s at odds with the scraping of nails through his scalp. His fingers are gently closed around it, a kiss placed to each knuckle. 

“That should be sufficient, let him up for air, Az, dear. I need to ask him a question.” Aziraphale speaks in the same tone he often uses ordering pastries at the local coffee shop and Crowley’s cock twitches inside Ezra, earning him a happy wiggle that threatens to take him over the edge again.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley slurs out, drunk on arousal and light-headed. He wants his angel’s lips again, wants to take him apart and make him moan and thrash on this bed under his tongue and his hands.

“My _darling_ ,” Aziraphale coos, pushing Crowley’s sweat soaked hair off of his forehead, “Az here is going to ride your face, if you’re amenable.”

Crowley groans and lets his head fall back to the pillow, thrusts his hips up into Ezra as Mr. Fell licks into him harder. “Yes I’m _fucking_ amenable. Christ, angel, you’re gonna discorporate me.”

A flash of concern across Aziraphale’s face, mirrored in the other faces he can see. “Crowley, I need your color…” Aziraphale asks, clearly worried he’s pushing too far.

But is there such a thing as too far? Too much? Crowley is sure the limit is somewhere, but it isn’t this. Not surrounded by his angel, within him and around him all at the same time. No, this could never be too much.

“Green…fucking Hell… so fucking green…” he gasps out as Az’s lips find his again, rough and desperate, like that first night after the bus ride. Crowley kisses him back in kind, winds his forked tongue around Az’s, letting it be the thin and unnatural thing that it is, swallows the moans of his angel’s doppelgänger’s lips.

“You won’t be able to speak, my only,” Aziraphale whispers low in his ear as Ezra moves of his own accord again, as Mr. Fell settles back between his knees again and thrusts into him slowly. “So I need you to drop the bowtie if it’s too much, that way I’ll know and things can stop.” 

“Yes, angel, I will. Drop the bowtie…things too much…” Crowley is breathing heavy and arching under the resumed thrusts as Az climbs over him, settling his knees on either side of Crowley’s head. But something is wrong, something is off. Az is as smooth as silk where an effort should be, he hasn’t made one yet. “Angel?”

“You’re such a clever boy, why don’t you coax what you want out of him with that wicked tongue of yours,” Aziraphale says low before kissing Crowley’s forehead, a tender and gentle gesture so far out of place in the current proceedings. 

Crowley darts out his tongue and wets his lips, funnels just a bit of demonic energy to the tip of his tongue. He nuzzles into the smoothness where Az would normally have something manifested, places a few soft kisses there and relishes the tremble. He tries his best to concentrate, to not think of how fucked out and overstimulated he already is. This is what his angel wants, and he wants to give his angel everything.

A tap of his tongue, down at the lowest point, and a slow drag. He pushes his strong tongue against Az’s smooth skin, kneading and shaping it. He runs it along a path he hopes is correct, feeling folds come into being under it, finally settling on a point at the apex of them and sucking hard, bringing Az’s clit into being. He leans back to admire his handiwork, taking in the sight of the already dripping folds, wet and ready for him. He closes his eyes, swallows hard, and snakes that thin forked tongue deep inside as Az cries out above him, grinding down onto his face.

“Gorgeous creature,” Aziraphale coos as he trails a finger along the shivery muscle of Crowley’s side, “Beautiful thing that you are. The arch of your back, the line of your muscles…Those arms, so long and lean, that pull me in and don’t let go…” There’s a soft caress from Crowley’s shoulder all the way to his wrist that makes him shiver, a lingering touch along the edge of the rope, gentle and teasing.

Crowley’s voice is useless with his tongue buried in Az’s cunt, but the keening noise he makes doesn’t go unnoticed, and Az moans at the vibration of it as Crowley strains against the ropes again. As he tries to keep his composure while Ezra and Mr. Fell move in a rhythm that keeps him from finding a foothold.

“…These long and lovely legs,” a firm press of fingers to the junction where his hip meets his thigh, a sturdy grip even as he’s moved and shifted by the bodies on top of him. Aziraphale grazes a soft and loving touch along the muscle and bone of him, past where Mr. Fell grips his knee all the way to his ankle, “The picture of temptation, indeed.”

There’s a waiver in Aziraphale’s voice, the night’s activities finally starting to affect him in some way. Mr. Fell falters slightly, spilling into Crowley once again as Ezra writhes in his lap. Crowley's chin is dripping wet where Az rides him; it runs along his skin, to the divots in his neck. Crowley feels used and dirty; a plaything for a hedonist angel to do with what he pleases. But Crowley also feels whole and complete, relishes being able to let Aziraphale do this. He knows that Aziraphale gets enjoyment from things of a “carnal nature”, as the angel would say; but he knows Aziraphale well enough to know that he gets just as much enjoyment watching Crowley fall apart.

Crowley hears the armchair by the bed groan as Aziraphale settles in it, hears the zip of the angel’s trousers opening and the deep sigh that comes with it. Aziraphale is going to stroke himself off and Crowley wants to see. 

He pulls his tongue out of Az, earning him a whimper. He focuses his ministrations on Az’s clit instead, preternaturally long tongue allowing him to do so while turning his head.

“Keen to see, are we?” Aziraphale asks with a grin. Crowley hears the click of oxfords across the concrete floor, confused as to the source. “Keep him focused, would you Az? There’s a love.” Az leans forward, gripping the headboard with one hand and Crowley’s hair with the other. Holds him steady, making sure his gaze is trapped on Aziraphale in the chair. Not that Crowley would want to look anywhere else; Aziraphale’s cock is free of his trousers, flushed red and leaking at the tip. He’ll give his angel this, he’s very good at acting composed, but his cock gives away how much he’s getting off on this, too.

The click of shoes gets louder as Aziraphale looks just past where Crowley can see, a wide smile breaking on his face. A sudden pang of jealousy hits Crowley; he’s here on this bed thoroughly at Aziraphale’s whim, who the Heaven could get that kind of smile from him?

Aziraphale stands, stepping just out of Crowley’s view. There’s a loud and messy kiss that Crowley can hear but can’t see, the sound of fabric rustling and falling to the floor. “Shall we make it a show, my dear?” A question posed by Aziraphale’s voice, but just left of center.

Crowley can hardly believe his eyes when his angel steps back into view, fingers laced with yet another copy of himself. This one is far more buttoned up than his own angel. Still has his bowtie and shoes on, sleeves still cuffed around his wrists. Aziraphale falls into the armchair, the double follows him, kissing him messily and hungrily, more of a slide of mouths than a true kiss. Crowley moans, hips thrusting helplessly up into Ezra, who comes once again with a shout, this time splattering across Az’s back as Az cries out in his own climax, clenching tightly around Crowley’s tongue as he flicks it against Az’s g-spot.

All Crowley can do is watch and keen as this approximation of Aziraphale writhes in his angel’s lap, buries his hands in _his_ angel’s hair, musses it up and nips at his ear and kisses down his neck, sucks a bruise into Aziraphale’s chest at the spot where his shirt is unbuttoned. 

“Ah, yes, right there, wonderful,” Aziraphale moans from the armchair before locking his gaze on Crowley, carding his fingers through this clone’s hair and encouraging him to keep nipping and licking at his neck. “Crowley, meet Zira, he’s a bit over-eager as you can see.” 

Despite having just snogged his own self senseless, Aziraphale still seems just as unaffected. Even with his hair mussed and his lips and cheeks flushed; he might as well be reading a book right now for all anyone could tell.

“Now then, Zira, do make yourself useful,” Aziraphale says as he grabs a fistful of Zira’s hair and pulls him back up for another kiss. Aziraphale’s eyes don’t close, they stay locked on Crowley’s as he kisses himself, as Zira writhes and moans with wanton abandon in his lap. Zira sinks down to the floor between Aziraphale’s knees, licks up the long line of his cock, collects the precome on his tongue and moans like he’s at a Michelin star restaurant before swallowing Aziraphale down. From where Crowley is he can see the stretch of Zira’s throat as Aziraphale thrusts into it, never breaking his eye contact with Crowley as he fucks his own face. 

It’s all entirely too much, and Crowley finds a breaking point. He thrusts into Ezra hard, as hard as he can with the weight holding him down. It should be impossible, he shouldn’t have anything left, but he spills into Ezra anyway, filling again just as quickly. Cursing himself for letting Aziraphale bless him this way before they started.

He snakes his tongue into Az again, shifts it and lets it grow bigger. Az grinds down on his face hard, fucking himself on Crowley’s tongue, rutting against him so hard that the bed starts to creak. Mr. Fell takes hold of Ezra’s cock again, pumps it in earnest as he snaps into Crowley, cock growing larger one more time, pushing through his own spit and spend. It’s slick enough that he meets no real resistance, instead sets a rapid and rough pace against Crowley’s prostate once more as he twists his wrist and bites into Ezra’s shoulder. 

Az is clenching down on his tongue again just as Zira starts to suck at one of Aziraphale’s balls. Crowley wants to be there, wants to be on his knees for his angel. But he’s already on his back and trussed up for him, this orgy of depravity and hedonism is something that only a mind like Aziraphale’s could create. Crowley pulls his tongue out of Az, wraps his lips around his clit and sucks hard, shifting it from a clit into a thick and heavy cock. Az obliges and immediately shoves it down Crowley’s throat so hard his eyes start to water. He shifts his tongue small again, forked at the tip, milks Az’s cock on it until he’s spilling white hot down Crowley’s throat.

He comes again when Ezra sinks himself down particularly hard. Another time on just Mr. Fell’s tongue. His orgasm when Aziraphale comes down Zira’s throat is enough to white out his vision. He’s consumed by the lust in the air, by all of the hands and mouths and cocks on and in his body. By the sight of his angel getting sucked off by his own self. He drifts on a haze of it, choking on Az’s cock as he rolls his hips to push Mr. Fell’s tongue further inside of him, as he snaps his hips up into Ezra. 

He’s vaguely aware, at one point, of Aziraphale and Zira standing, crossing over to him. Their hands are on his arms, his chest, his stomach. Their lips are on either side of his face, even as Az’s cock is still down his throat and it’s all so much.

“Come on darling,” Aziraphale asks breathlessly from beside him. Crowley turns to look at him, finds Aziraphale has one hand wrapped around his own cock, pumping furiously, chasing a second release. “One more for me, darling, you can do it. For me.”

Crowley nods and with a snap of Aziraphale’s fingers, all of the clones disappear suddenly. Crowley almost cries at the loss of fullness, but doesn’t have long to dwell on it. Aziraphale climbs on top of him, thrusts into him easily. He covers Crowley’s body with his own, kisses him deeply as he wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock.

“Beautiful, lovely creature,” Aziraphale breathes against Crowley’s mouth, kisses becoming little more than the slick slide of lips against lips against skin, “So good for me, so wonderful.”

“Want to be good for you...” Crowley rasps out, voice long gone from the overuse of his throat, “Always wanna be good for you.”

“Always good for me, always wonderful…” Aziraphale punctuates each phrase with a thrust. He snaps his fingers again and the ropes dissolve into nothingness.

Crowley nearly cries as he wraps his arms around Aziraphale, finally able to touch and hold. He clings to him tightly as Aziraphale chases his release. “Not gonna last, angel.”

“Don’t then, come for me Crowley, my love, my only— _ah!”_ Aziraphale’s hips stutter to a standstill as he comes, spilling deep inside of Crowley at the same moment that Crowley spills out over his hand. 

Crowley grips Aziraphale tightly, not wanting to let go, even as the world around him starts to fade. He can hear Aziraphale through the haze, whispering sweet nothings and I-love-yous as Crowley loses his hold on wakefulness.

* * *

Crowley isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep. He also isn’t sure how long they fucked in the first place. The one thing he is sure of, when he wakes, is that he is pleasantly and wonderfully sore. He can feel the bruising on his hips and on his ribcage. The sharp tinge of use in his throat. The soreness of his arse that only comes from a good fucking. 

He feels used, fucked out, and thoroughly satisfied; exactly what he wanted.

There’s a coldness on his skin that he’s vaguely aware of, and when he opens his eyes he sees Aziraphale dabbing a soft wet cloth through his chest hair. Cleaning him up the human way. Crowley watches for a moment, taking in how focused Aziraphale is on this act of care and service.

“Hello, darling,” Aziraphale says, smile bright enough to light any darkness, when he notices Crowley is awake.

“Hmm,” Crowley hums as he stretches, relishing the sting of his body as he does, “Hello yourself, dove.”

“How are you feeling?” Aziraphale asks, worrying at the cloth in his hands nervously.

“Mmmm, well and thoroughly fucked,” Crowley says with a laugh as he reaches for Aziraphale’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Was it everything you hoped, love?” Aziraphale asks, squeezing their fingers together.

“Everything and more.” Crowley pulls Aziraphale’s hand to him, kisses the knuckles as he watches the worry melt off of Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips and strokes a hand through his hair.

“Wonderful, darling, I’m so glad.”

“Think I might sleep for a week. Haven’t been this exhausted in a long time. Are you _sure_ you aren’t secretly a lust demon?”

Aziraphale scoffs and hits him softly with the cloth, right on his stomach. “Hush, you.”

“M’only teasing, c’mere,” Crowley pulls Aziraphale down beside him, scootching over and making room before settling in Aziraphale’s arms, “I’m sleepy.”

“You’re _clingy_ , that’s what you are.”

“No one would _ever_ believe you.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll always know,” Aziraphale says, holding him tight. This, Crowley thinks, is what it’s all about. Love and trust and everything they were never able to have before, everything that is theirs to enjoy now. “I have to say though…it did look like fun.”

“Oh? Are you saying you’d fancy a turn with a whole brood of _demons_?”

Aziraphale just chuckles and places a kiss to Crowley’s tattoo, a small gesture of love and acceptance of everything that he is. “Only if they’re all one specific brooding demon. Wouldn’t have any others. I love you, darling.”

“Mmmm, that’s good then, don’t wanna share you,” Crowley says as he snuggles deeper into Aziraphale’s embrace, drifting off for the second time in the warmth and safety of his angel’s light. “Love you, too.”


End file.
